


tale as old as time

by spearbi



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, ChanLix, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Oneshot, chan is ur average knight, doing knightly things, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29956050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spearbi/pseuds/spearbi
Summary: Chan is a knight- and, as knights often do, he sets off on a mission to slay a dragon and rescue a princess. Unfortunately for him, the dragon is charming and good at baking, and the princess- well. It's a long story.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 16
Kudos: 162





	tale as old as time

_ Once upon a time, there was a princess.  _

_ Her hair was long and gold, and she was strong. The trees bent to her will, and the animals of the forest knelt at her feet. _

_ She had a brother, who was as kind as he was handsome, but he wasn’t as strong as she was. They were twins, but they did not share the same gift. _

_ In their blood ran a gift from their ancestors. This present was knitted deep into their bones, tied into their veins.  _

_ Thanks to this, they could see things that others could not; they could go beyond the limits of an ordinary person.  _

_ The princess dabbled with the dead and the in-between places of reality, whereas the prince made strange potions to heal the ill and baked bread that never stopped splitting in half.  _

_ The gift was a deep and volatile magic, and it was called most strongly to the princess, who answered. She was hungry for it- she ached for the knowledge that humanity was kept from learning.  _

_ She was very hungry indeed.  _

»»————- ♔ ————-««

It is a Wednesday, and Chan finds himself standing in the throne room in front of his king, still clad in his practice armor. 

Chan has never had negative feelings towards a day of the week, but today might change that. He’s feeling very confused, and slightly irritated, because the king has tasked him with something deeply stupid and slightly suicidal. 

Chan is someone who likes to pick up a dozen lemon-raspberry cookies from the bakery after completing his knightly duties. He has a small, one eyed dog named Loaf who pees on the floor when excited, and a small herb garden in his backyard that he tends to religiously. 

So, he’s normal. Average, even, in a land where the nobility is blessed by gifts from the gods. But here he is, standing in front of a visibly teary king, sword in hand. 

“I’m terribly sorry, your Highness,” Chan says slowly, head still bowed, “But I think you may have the wrong person. Are you sure you want  _ me  _ to-?”

“I must have that princess as my wife,” King Leopold the Sixth insists, tapping a bejeweled hand against his forearm. “She’s the most beautiful woman on the entire continent. Unmatched, her looks are. Your captain tells me that you are the most skilled and able-bodied of all my knights. If you cannot carry out this mission, nobody can.”

Chan stares down at the plush, royal carpet. “Have you seen this princess for yourself, your Highness?”

“Well, no.” Leopold squints down at him. “But my sources are reliable. She’s been locked up in a tower by her uncle, and I must rescue her.” 

“Of course, your Highness.” Chan bites back a long-suffering sigh. So the king wants to send him on a wild goose chase, to catch an alleged princess. “If you order me to go, I will gladly do so.” 

Leopold beams. Behind him, a court official exhales in relief. Chan watches the tension drain out of the man’s shoulders.  _ The rumors about the king having a temper must be true _ .

“Excellent! Should you retrieve the princess, I will reward you handsomely.” The king coughs and looks out the window, where the palace gardens sprawl out, lush and green. “And if you don’t- well. I’ll have to kill you, of course.” 

“Obviously,” Chan replies. He can feel a muscle in his jaw twitch. He really doesn’t want to do this. He quite likes his normal little life- he just wants to go home and pet Loaf. He doesn’t want to die either, though, so he just grits his teeth and nods. “I’m at your service, your Highness.” 

The king claps his hands together. The court collectively flinches. “Excellent! Ah-and there might be a little pest you have to take care of to get to the princess.” 

“And what might that be?” Chan asks, a slow feeling of dread sliding over him. 

“Oh, you know,” Leopold says, averting his eyes. “Just a dragon. I’m sure you’ll do fine, Sir Christopher.” 

_ Wednesdays.  _

»»————- ♔ ————-««

“A  _ dragon? _ ” 

“Yes,” Chan sighs. He allows his head to fall against the worn, sticky surface of the tavern. All around him, working men and women toast and cheer. On any other night, the camaraderie would have been enough to have him downing his ale in solidarity. But not tonight. 

Since he’s probably-  _ definitely-  _ going to get murdered by a dragon, the atmosphere at his table is more comparable to a wake. “I’ll need you to take care of Loaf for me.” 

“Look- you can’t die,” Jisung complains, lacing his fingers together and leaning in. “If you croak, who will help me scam street gamblers out of their coin? Also, your dog is disgusting.” 

Changbin clicks his tongue. “Yeah, it pissed all over my trousers last time I came over. There’s no way in hell we’re taking care of it. You’re just going to have to live.” 

Chan stares at his fellow knights and friends. “Both very good points, you two- but it’s a dragon we’re talking about here. A scaled leviathan that breathes  _ fire _ and rampages through sad underdeveloped villages for fun. I’m going to barbeque inside of my armor.” 

Jisung smiles beatifically. “Better start looking up dog shelters, then!” 

Chan growls and chucks his empty tankard at his friend’s head. Jisung yelps and ducks; the three of them watch in horror as the wooden cup spins in the air and smacks a tall, bald man in the back of the head. 

The man yells out in pain and stands abruptly, tipping over his table. “Who did that?” The tavern falls silent. 

“He’s so tall,” Jisung whispers, eyes wide. “Is he from the north?”

“Shut the hell up,” Changbin breathes.

“I  _ said, _ who threw this at me? Tell me, or I-,” the man mimics striking a match, and then wiggles his fingers. “ _ Fire _ .” Everyone gets the message. 

There’s a moment of quiet, and then- “It was that guy,” a barmaid says, pointing directly at Chan. “He did it. I saw him.” 

The bald man turns slowly, a menacing glint in his eye. “I rip out your intestines and make jumping rope for my children.” His voice is deep and thickly accented. His head nearly brushes the wooden ceiling.

“I’m going to piss myself,” Jisung says nervously. 

Chan frowns at the barmaid. “What the hell, Dolores?” 

“Sorry, Chan,” Dolores says apologetically. She clutches her metal serving tray to her chest. “The boss takes all the money for repairs out of our tips.” 

“You will die,” the bald man promises. He pulls out a sharp, serrated knife from his pants. “Come here.” 

“I’m going to have to pass on that one,” Chan replies, and does a very knightly thing indeed: he turns and he runs. He runs very, very fast, and curses his terrible luck the entire way home. 

At least Loaf is happy to see him. Chan doesn’t even complain about the happy puddle that appears on the floor. 

_ Wednesdays.  _

»»————- ♔ ————-««

Coincidentally, it’s also a Wednesday when Chan sets off on his (doomed, extremely foolish) quest, armed with a pack full of goods and his sword at his hip. His armor is shiny and polished. 

The king is not there to see him off personally, but he sends a map and a page to deliver it and that’s more than enough for Chan. 

Jisung and Changbin see him off too. “Look,” Changbin says. His eyes are red and puffy; he’s clearly been crying, though he’ll never admit it. “I’ll look after your piss-dog while you’re gone, because I’m a really nice person.”

“Not forever, though,” Jisung interjects, mouth twisted into a frown. “You have to come home soon.” 

Chan swallows back the lump in his throat. “Thanks, guys. I’ll buy you all a round when I get back.” 

Changbin’s face brightens. “ _ Three  _ rounds.” Jisung elbows him in the side.  _ Thwack. _ “Two?”  _ Thwack. _

Chan laughs and rubs at his temples. “I can do three.”

“Be safe,” Jisung says emphatically. He slides his hands around Chan’s forearms, pulls him close. “If you really can’t do it- don’t come back. Just go on the run. I’ve heard that living as a hermit is quite comfortable.”

“We’d visit you,” Changbin offers. “I’ll bring Loaf. He can pee in your hermit shack.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine.,” Chan lies. “I promise. I’ll be back soon enough with the princess.” He pulls them both in for a hug, tears welling up in his eyes. He really, really doesn’t want to do this.

“You’re the most talented swordsman I’ve ever met,” Changbin mumbles into his chainmail. “If anyone can single-handedly slaughter a dragon, it would be you.” 

Leopold’s words echo inside of Chan’s head.  _ If you cannot carry out this mission, nobody can.  _

_ A king’s word is law.  _

As much as he hates it, it is his duty, so when Chan pulls away and starts his journey down the worn dirt road, he doesn’t look back at his friends. He can’t. 

It’s a Wednesday. The morning air is cold and sweet, and the bite of it makes the tears rolling down Chan’s cheeks hurt his skin. 

The map is crudely drawn, but Chan is resourceful and clever, so it’s not too much of a hindrance. The princesses tower is a week’s journey north. The trek will take him through the wilds. 

_ What kind of man would lock his niece up in a tower in the remote wilderness?  _ It doesn’t sit right with Chan, because it doesn’t make sense. There’s something else going on, obviously, so he’ll have to be cautious. 

For the first six days, Chan’s journey is uneventful and rather pleasant. He’s alone, but he doesn’t mind the silence. He grew up in woods like these, so he takes time to wander and watch the wildlife. This deep into the unknown, the deer and birds don’t fear people. 

They come up to Chan, sniff at his hands and nibble at the tips of his curls. He doesn’t have the heart to hunt and eat them after that, so he forages for mushrooms and edible berries instead. 

He thinks about running off more than he’d like to admit. Being a wanted man wouldn’t be so bad if he were in a place like this- it’s not like the king would be able to track him down. Not in here. 

But there’s Loaf, and Changbin and Jisung to think about. He wants to see his herb garden flourish. The thought of never being able to eat a lemon-raspberry cookie again solidifies his vow to kill the dragon and come home. 

_ I’ll kill it,  _ Chan decides on the morning of the seventh day, brow furrowed and jaw set.  _ I have no other choice.  _

The woods have deepened and darkened; the path he walks on is overgrown with vines and moss. There is no birdsong, no wind. Just dead air. He can feel the weight of many eyes on his shoulders, but still he keeps walking. 

The trees are evergreen and densely crowded, but weak sunlight slips through the foliage and lights the way. Chan is grateful for the warmth it brings. 

And then he hears the singing. 

It’s faint and low, but Chan can hear it clearly in this silent wood. He freezes in place and closes his eyes.  _ It’s directly ahead.  _

The melody is sad; the tune of it is haunting. It pulls at something inside of Chan’s chest, tugs at his heart. 

_ Is it the princess?  _ Chan unsheathes his sword and creeps forward, breath caught in his throat. There’s a clearing ahead; the sunlight is stronger there. 

Large, twisted scraps of metal ring around the empty space, an indication of some older, long gone civilization. 

Confused, Chan takes another step- and his plated foot steps on a large branch, cracking it in half. The singing cuts off abruptly. 

_ Well, screw me,  _ Chan thinks. 

“I know you’re there,” a voice intones. It comes from all directions; Chan can’t pinpoint its source. It’s low and deep, like boulders grinding together, but there’s no malice in it. Just exhaustion. “I can’t believe they’ve sent another one so soon.” 

“Who are you?” Chan demands, stepping forward. His eyes flick around the clearing, looking for signs of life amidst the wreckage. “I’m looking for a girl. A princess.” 

The voice sighs. “Aren’t they all.” There’s a soft hissing noise. “There were more at the beginning, but over time they arrived in fewer and fewer numbers.” There’s a pause. “And now there’s you.” 

Chan growls and drives the point of his sword into the cracked stone. “Where  _ are  _ you?” 

“Can you not see me?” The voice deepens; the hissing increases in volume. “I’m right here, knight.” 

The trees start to move. Chan watches, frozen, as the massive evergreens sway and bend to accommodate something large- something with scales and long teeth. The sound of metal scraping against stone fills his ears. 

“Ah,” Chan manages. “I see.” Two large, amber eyes stare down at him. They’d be almost human if not for the reptilian pupils, and the body they were set in. 

“Hello,” the dragon says pleasantly, smoke curling out from its nostrils. It’s the size of a small house, and golden in color. “Can I help you with something?”

“You’re…dragon?” Chan says slowly, knees locked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his fight or flight instinct screams out a warning. 

The dragon blinks. It’s curled itself around the barely recognizable wreckage of a carriage; sunlight glints off the twisted metal and casts sunspots onto the trees around them. “Well, clearly. You’re looking a little pale. Are you okay?”

“You can  _ talk.”  _ Chan’s voice pitches up into an embarrassing squeak. His hands tremble around the hilt of his sword. “And I have to kill you?” He swallows and tries again. “I have to kill  _ you.”  _ His voice cracks. 

The dragon closes an eye and tilts its head in a recognizable wince. “That’s really… oh, wow. You’re really freaked out. Minho, could you-?”

“On it,” a discombobulated voice says somewhere behind Chan’s head. He whirls around, eyes scanning the thicket of trees, but nobody is there. 

“Over  _ here,  _ silly,” the voice says again, and when Chan turns, something large and very heavy whacks him in the back of the head. 

Chan staggers, little flashes of light popping behind his eyes. He manages to get out a small, pained sound before crumpling to the ground, his metal suit throwing up small puffs of dust. 

The dragon’s voice brushes against his ear. It sounds as though it’s coming from very far away. “Sorry about that-  _ gods,  _ Minho, you didn’t need to hit him that hard!”

That melodic, airy voice responds: Chan can barely hear it. “He looked strong.” 

Chan tries to stand- he wants to run, wants to leave- but his body won’t comply. There’s a dull ache in his head, and a blackness behind his eyes, and eventually he succumbs to the dark pull of it. 

The dragon uncurls from his spot and plods over to the motionless form of the knight. His footsteps make the ground shiver and hum. “Well, this is a bit of a sticky situation.” 

The air next to him shimmers and twists; after a moment, a humanoid figure materializes. He’s iridescent and slightly transparent, but his beautiful features are human.“I think we should kill him,” the man says sweetly, tucking his long hair behind one of his pointed ears. “Like we did with the others.” 

“Hmm,” the dragon says slowly, smoke puffing out of his mouth. “Maybe not, Minho. I didn’t sense any murderous intent from him.”

“Boo,” Minho hums. He kicks gently at the knight’s hand with a translucent foot. “You gonna take him, then?”

“I think so,” the dragon says, voice hesitant. He lowers his head, stares down at the night. The man  _ is  _ very pretty, with long eyelashes and full lips. There’s a small, white scar above his right eyebrow. The dragon coughs and turns away. “Yes, we’ll take him.” 

Minho whistles through his teeth; it sounds like wind passing through the branches of a tall tree. It sounds very old indeed. “If you say so, boss.” He flicks his fingers, and the dust kicks up, twists itself into circles. 

Three miniature cyclones slide under the man’s heavy armor and pull him up into the air. 

“Please don’t call me that,” the dragon says after a moment, his gaze locked onto the face of the unconscious knight. “Just call me Felix. We’ve been through this a thousand times.” 

“And I’ve told you a hundred times that it’s not our way.” Minho makes a  _ come hither _ sign with his hand: the air bends and drags the knight over to them. “Nymphs are free spirits, but we are honour-bound also. Don’t insult me by forcing me to address you by your given name.”

“Fine,” Felix sighs. “I won’t argue with that.” He turns, wings unfurling. “Let’s get going- and don’t let him hit his head on anything. No tricks this time.” 

Minho grins and looks down at the knight. “Poor boy,” he whispers, so softly that his voice could be mistaken for the rustling of dead leaves. “You have no idea what you’re in for.” 

»»————- ♔ ————-««

Chan wakes up slowly, with a terrible taste in his mouth and a pounding ache in his head. He’s tired and confused, but the bed he’s lying in is very warm. The quilt smells faintly of lavender and myrrh. 

He reaches out with a heavy hand and touches the bump on the back of his head. “Ow.” 

“Minho really did a number on you.”

Chan flinches violently and reflexively tries to stand. A pair of hands grab his shoulders and gently press him back into bed. “Ah, I really wouldn’t recommend that. You’re suffering from exhaustion along with that bump on your head.”

“You,” Chan says, scrambling to organize his thoughts into a coherent sentence. “You’re the voice from before. You’re the-,”

“Dragon?” The man laughs nervously and withdraws his hands. They’re human in shape and size, but the nails are long and black. “It’s a long story, but yes. That’s me.” 

Chan blinks twice. “You don’t look much like one now.” It’s true. The dragon-man?- looks more human than anything else. He’s got choppy blonde hair, and a smattering of golden freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His eyes are amber-brown and warm, with narrow pupils. 

“Well,” the dragon says. “Like I said, it’s a long story.” He smiles, showcasing a set of very nice- and very sharp- teeth.

“Hm!” Chan croaks. “Are you going to eat me now?”

“Oops,” the dragon says, covering his mouth with one hand. “Um-no. I don’t eat people. That’s not really my style. My brothers and sisters definitely would, but I don’t like the taste.”

That implies that the dragon has, at the very least,  _ tried  _ human flesh, but Chan wisely chooses to refrain from commenting on that. 

There’s a long, awkward silence. “So,” the dragon says eventually, “What’s your name?”

_ What the hell,  _ Chan thinks loopily.  _ Why not _ ? “I’m Christopher,” he replies, and then, after a moment: “But my friends call me Chan.”

He’s hit with immediate regret.  _ Why did you say that?  _ His brain screams.  _ Are you stupid? Trying to make friends with a dragon is a no-no!  _

_ It’s because I’m concussed,  _ Chan decides.  _ I have a head injury.  _

The dragon beams. His smile lights up his face, momentarily blinding Chan and derailing his entire train of thought. “Nice to meet you!” He deflates. “Well, as nice as it can be, under these circumstances. I’m… you can call me Felix.” The dragon sticks out a hand. 

Chan stares at it for a moment before accepting it gingerly. Felix’s hand is warm and calloused. It feels very human, though his nails scratch at Chan’s wrist when their hands part. “Felix? That’s a very human name.”

Felix grimaces. “Yeah, well. Lo-,”

“-ong story?” Chan finishes. Felix stares at him, expression blank. “Yes.” 

Chan stares back. “I understand.” The silence is getting awkward again. 

Objectively speaking, Felix has very nice eyes. The pupils are a little off putting, but Chan can roll with it. Being adaptable is an important quality in a knight. 

_ He’s very beautiful,  _ a small voice says inside his head.  _ Wow. That is one beautiful man-dragon.  _

“Am I interrupting something?”

Chan snaps out of his concussion-induced trance and looks over the dragon’s shoulder. “Who are you?” 

A very tall man stands by the door. His long, green tinted fingers are wrapped around a ceramic mug. He’s beautiful in a wild sort of way.

As he moves towards Chan his body shimmers and flickers, revealing the wooden wall behind him. His hair is long and dark, and falls nearly to his waist. 

“I’m Minho,” the man says in a lilting, amused voice. “I’m the one who knocked you out. My bad.”

“That’s fine,” Chan replies, his voice tearing itself out of his chest rather against his will. His vision tunnels onto Minho and only Minho; his toes tingle. “You’re really lovely, you know.” 

Minho smiles. His teeth are very sharp too, but Chan finds that he doesn’t care at all. “Thank you.” 

“Minho,” Felix warns. “None of that stuff with Chan, do you understand?” The rumble in his tone breaks Chan from his strange trance. 

Minho sighs. “As you wish, boss.” He glides across the room and sticks the ceramic mug under Chan’s nose. “Drink this.” 

Chan glares up at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

The look Minho gives him is equal parts exasperation and amusement. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. Please just drink it.” 

“It’s medicine,” Felix says, arms crossed. “For your head. I really am sorry about that.” 

Chan curls his fingers around the mug and takes a careful sip. The liquid is thick and sweet; it tastes strongly of licorice. The pounding in his head recedes almost immediately. He takes another sip. “Thanks. This is just... a lot to take in?” 

“It’s a lot for me too,” Minho says, shooting Felix a look. “This has never happened before. Usually we just kill you guys and let the giant worms absorb your bones into the earth.”

Felix puts his head in his hands. “That is so not helpful. You’re going to freak him out.” 

“I figured you guys were going to do that,” Chan says honestly. “I mean, I figured the dragon would, because… you know.”

“Because I’m a dragon.” Felix suddenly looks very tired. 

Chan winces. “Well, yes.” 

Felix closes his eyes and sighs. “We’re actually a very peaceful species, you know. We just happen to be good guardians as well, and if we’re paid properly….,”

“Dragons  _ love _ jewels,” Minho interjects helpfully. Felix sighs yet again. “We do love shiny things. Hoarding and all that.” He reaches over and pats Chan’s blanketed knee. “You don’t need to worry, though. We’ve decided we won’t kill you.”

“Why is that?” 

“I’m sure the boss has a very good reason,” Minho says flatly, expression deadpan. 

“I do,” Felix says, refusing to make eye contact. He turns to Chan. “You should really get some more sleep, though. You’re still very tired.”

“Am I?” Chan asks, eyelashes fluttering. “I suppose I am.” His eyelids are heavy; he can barely keep them open. The taste of licorice rests under his tongue, warm and sweet. He thinks he can feel the very careful, very gentle brush of clawed fingers against his forehead, but he’s too exhausted to properly register the movement. 

“Thanks,” Chan slurs, “For not killing me.” 

“You’re welcome,” he thinks he hears Felix reply. “You’re very strange, for a human.”

_ Right,  _ I'm  _ the weird one,  _ Chan thinks, and falls asleep almost immediately. He doesn’t dream, but as he sleeps he can smell pine needles and the sweet, sharp scent that only strawberries have. 

»»————- ♔ ————-««

When he wakes again, it’s to somebody singing. Humming, really, but it’s familiar- the same sad song he heard in the clearing. Chan blinks open his eyes and stares up at the wooden ceiling. 

The humming is coming from the hallway, so Chan sits up carefully and slides out of bed, taking care not to shift around his weight too much. 

His head is still a little fuzzy, but for the most part he’s feeling fine.  _ Minho was true to his word.  _

The room is simple; the walls are made from wooden logs. An oil lamp rests on the bedside dresser. Chan looks at the cobwebs in the corners and the dust on the windowsill, and knows that nobody has slept in this bed for a long, long time. 

The hallway is narrow and dark, but there’s a square of warm golden light coming from the very end. 

The air smells like sugar and cherries. Intrigued, Chan creeps forward. This close, he can almost make out the words being sung. 

“ _ take…..moon…. bend the …….the heart’s eye….”  _

Chan peers around the wooden doorframe. It’s a tiny kitchen, all wood and iron, and Felix is standing there, mixing a bowl with a bent metal spoon. There’s a frayed red apron tied around his waist. 

The dragon’s head bobs as he hums; he mixes whatever is in the bowl with extreme concentration. 

“You have a nice voice,” Chan says unbidden. He coughs awkwardly when Felix turns and jumps, nearly dropping both the bowl and the spoon onto the floor.

“Oh,” Felix says, face red. He looks genuinely embarrassed; Chan tries very hard not to be endeared by it. “Thank you? I didn’t hear you come in. It’s good to see you moving around. Can I get you something?” 

Chan inches closer, lured in by the smell of baked goods. “Whatever it is that you’re making.” 

He looks up, completely serious. “It smells good.” 

Felix flushes red. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands; one cradles the bowl while the other taps the spoon against the counter in a quick, nervous tempo. 

“I’m making cherry tarts. They might not be good, though. I’m the only one who eats them- Minho doesn’t eat human food, because, you know. Nymph stuff.” 

“I’ll eat them,” Chan replies immediately. His statement is punctuated by a long, low growl from his stomach. 

Felix nods and looks away, eyes wide. “Okay. I can do that.” He carefully places the bowl onto the counter and points at Chan. “Do you think… could you maybe put some clothes on first?” 

Chan blinks. “What?” He looks down. “Oh.” He’s completely naked. Chan hooks a thumb over his shoulder, cheeks burning. “I’m just going to…,” 

Felix nods his head vigorously. “Yeah. Yeah, you should…,” 

“I’ll just-” Chan covers his crotch with his hands and shuffles backwards out of the kitchen. “Sorry, I-,” 

“It’s fine!” Felix calls, his deep voice coming out at least three octaves higher than usual. “It happens!” 

Chan closes his eyes and continues to shuffle backwards. He yelps as he passes through something cold and damp. 

“My word,” Minho says. “You can’t just walk through me like that! It’s rude.” Chan opens his eyes. 

The nymph is standing there, head brushing against the ceiling. The irritation on his face fades as he takes in Chan’s unclothed state.

“What the  _ hell?”  _ Minho says again, face splitting into a grin. “Did you not see the clothes I left on the bed for you? Yours were completely tattered. We had to throw them out.” 

“ _ No _ ,” Chan hisses, uncomfortably aware of his nudity. “I did not. Can you look away?” 

Minho shrugs, unbothered. “Sure, if that makes you feel better.” He strides into the kitchen. “You okay, boss?” 

“Shut up!” 

Chan all but runs back to the room at the end of the hallway- and, just as Minho had said, a set of clothing lies on the foot of the bed. It’s simple- a linen shirt and soft, worn black trousers- but Chan pulls them on gratefully, ears hot. 

There’s something else, too- a small black dagger, the metal onyx and reflective.  _ To replace the sword,  _ the note beside it reads. He slides it into the loose pocket of his trousers, somewhat touched by the gesture. 

“So,” Minho says when Chan returns to the kitchen, clothed and red in the face. “Are we going to talk about it, or-?”

“No,” Chan and Felix say simultaneously. They look at each other, and then look away. Minho’s grin grows even wider. “Very well.” 

“The tarts,” Felix says haltingly. He pushes a small, chipped silver plate across the table. “Here. You’ve been asleep for almost three days, so.” 

“Thank you,” Chan replies politely, still unable to make eye contact. He picks up one of the warm pastries and takes a bite. “Ohf godf,” he mumbles, eyes wide. 

The pastry is flaky and savory; it melts in his mouth and tastes faintly of cinnamon. The cherry filling is thick and sweet. It tastes both like a pastry from a professional chef and something his mother might have made for him as a child. The headache pressing against his temples fades almost immediately. 

Felix shrugs apologetically. “I told you- I haven’t had anyone to bake for in a long, long time.” 

Chan swallows. “This is literally the best cherry tart I have ever had.” He licks his lips and snags another one. 

The dragon’s cheeks turn pink. “You're just being nice.”

“I’m serious,” Chan says. “These are like, really good.” Felix smiles brightly at him. Chan smiles back. 

Minho massages his temples. “I really can’t watch this,” he mumbles under his breath. “So!” he says, louder this time. “Are we going to get down to business?” 

“Business?” Chan asks around a mouthful of tart. 

“Business,” Felix confirms. He leans back in his chair, expression contemplative. “The whole princess thing.”

Chan puts his tart down. “Oh. That.” 

Minho purses his lips. “Yeah. We really don’t want to kill you- seriously- but if you try to release the princess, we’ll have no other option.” 

Felix nods, eyes darkening. “He’s right.” 

Chan leans in. “Why? I mean, surely there’s other contracts to be made. There’s a lot of gold out there.” 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Felix says slowly. He and Minho exchange a loaded look. “I think it would be best just to show you.” 

“Okay,” Chan replies. He gets the sense that he’s not going to like what he’s about to see. “When do you want to-?”

“Let’s go now,” Minho says, rising from the table in a single, fluid movement. “While we still have daylight.” 

Felix nods. “I agree.” It might just be the lighting, but the man’s face looks pale and almost frightened. “Chan, you can ride with me.” 

_ Chan.  _ Chan looks away and nods jerkily, not entirely sure what to make of the strange feeling in his chest. Felix fiddles with the doorknob and squints over at him. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” 

“Pardon?” Chan says. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Felix’s eyes glitter. “I suppose we’ll just have to find out.” He offers a clawed hand: when Chan takes it, Felix pulls him flush against his own chest and opens the front door in one swift movement. 

For a moment, Chan is too flustered to register what’s going on outside. Felix smells of something sweet and sharp…  _ strawberries,  _ he realizes. 

“We’re pretty high up,” Felix says, unaware that Chan is otherwise occupied. “But if you hang on, you should be fine.” 

“Sure,” Chan replies automatically. “Wait, what?” Felix grins and jumps, dragging Chan with him.

Chan realizes very quickly that Felix’s cottage is built into the fact of a mountain; the front door drops right off the face of said mountain and the two of them are free falling to what Chan presumes is their deaths. 

Chan is one of the kingdom’s best knights. He has fought in bloody, awful wars and killed werewolves and serpents and trolls- but he still screams his head off as they plummet towards the ground. 

“My goodness,” Felix laughs. “You’re so funny.” Chan digs his fingers into the muscle of Felix’s shoulder and lets out a panicked wheeze. 

“Hold on,” Felix instructs, and shifts. 

It’s like heat waves on the horizon. Felix’s body ripples and contorts, expanding and cracking underneath Chan’s hands. The whole thing happens in a split second, and before Chan can so much as blink he finds himself sitting on the neck of a large, gold dragon. 

“See?” Felix rumbles, eyes warm. He flaps his wings and they lift up into the air. “Nothing to worry about.” 

“Hnngh,” Chan agrees, trying his best not to look down. There’s a series of sharp, metallic spines down the dragon’s neck. Chan wraps his hands around one for a little stability, and shrieks as Felix drops a good fifty feet without warning. 

“That tickles,” Felix says mildly, and then: “Hang on.” 

They dive down below the clouds and emerge above the same sprawling, evergreen forest Chan had come through. Felix hisses out a plume of steam. “It’s just over here.” 

“I don’t see anything.” Chan scans the horizon, looking for a telltale monolith of stone, but all he can see is an endless smear of green. 

Minho pops into existence beside them, legs crossed. “That’s because mortal eyes are weak. They can’t see the in-between spaces where magic thrives.” 

“In exchange for all your technological advancements,” Felix murmurs, “your people have given up on the knowledge of the ancient way. You are the first species to do so.” He pauses. “But not the last.”

“I think that might be for the best,” Chan admits. He looks down at the vast expanse of trees beneath him. “We have a bad habit of trying to take things that aren’t ours.” 

“Well said,” Minho hums, hands tucked beneath his head. “You’re not too bad, as far as humans go. Just don’t do anything stupid while we’re here.” 

“Don’t touch anything,” Felix agrees. “Look.” 

Chan squints. There’s a patch of air ahead that seems to shimmer- like heat reflecting off cobblestone roads in the summer- and the longer he looks, the more he sees. 

“This wasn’t what I was expecting,” he admits, somewhat shaken. “It’s very…” 

“Dreary?” Felix suggests. “You’re not wrong. This is a very dangerous place.” 

“And it’s our job to keep it that way,” Minho sing-songs, creating a little eddy of air with a forefinger. It makes a crackling noise and dances along the tip of his finger like a flame. “You’ll see.” 

It’s a tall stone tower, like the king had said, but there’s something clearly wrong with it. Blackened ivy wraps around the worn stone; the turrets are chipped. 

There’s a circle of bare, dead ground all around the base of the building, extending at least two hundred feet in the middle of the woods. 

There is no birdsong. There is nothing. The wrongness of it all pushes against Chan’s chest, sucks the breath from his lungs. 

Minho brushes a cool hand against Chan’s forearm. “As long as you’re with us, you’ll be fine.” Chan nods, throat tight. 

Felix lands at the foot of the tower. “One moment,” he says, and the air ripples once more until he stands in his human form. Chan stumbles, unsteady, and Felix’s hand tightens around his waist. 

“Careful,” the dragon warns. “This is not a place for mistakes. Once we are inside, it’s important that you say nothing, and ignore anything that might speak to you.”

Chan nods wordlessly. He knew he was in over his head the moment Leopold summoned him to the throne room- but this is something else.

This is something that has been forgotten. It’s something that should stay forgotten. 

There is no door to the tower, only a seamless patterning of soot-stained stone. Felix places his palm against the wall and says something in a language that grates against Chan’s ears. It sounds like a spoken avalanche. 

A section of the tower disappears entirely, revealing a set of stairs. “We’re not going up,” Felix says quietly, holding a finger to his lips. “We’re going down.” 

Minho grimaces. 

The three of them step into the tower and descend down the steps. The stone solidifies into place behind them, leaving them in complete darkness. 

The silence is so deafening that Chan starts to hear whispers in it. They’re barely audible, but they know his name, and ask him things. They promise him magic in exchange for a conversation. Chan remembers Felix’s warning and keeps his mouth shut. The voices continue relentlessly. 

“Ah,” Felix realizes after Chan trips on a stair for the ninth time. “You can’t see in the dark, can you?” 

Chan shakes his head. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, and flicks the fingers on his free hand. The other is still loosely wrapped around Chan’s waist. They begin to glow, flames burning slowly underneath the dragon’s skin. “Dragon perks.” 

Minho snorts, but keeps his mouth shut. Chan doesn’t fail to notice the way the nymph’s eyes dart around.  _ He must be wary of whatever is in here as well _ . 

The stairs seem to never end; the further the three of them go, the colder it gets. Chan’s breath puffs out ahead of him in a white ball of air. 

They walk for what seems like hours until Felix stops in front of a massive black door. There’s a small, circular window inlaid into the metal, held tightly by bolts the size of a man’s fist. 

“You want to know why?” Felix asks. He jerks his head towards the window. “Look in there.” Chan looks over at Minho, who nods, his expression uncharacteristically somber. 

Chan leans in, breath fogging up against the glass. There’s a meadow inside the room- a full meadow with flowers, and tall green grass, and a stream. 

A crescent moon hangs low in the sky, occasionally passed over by a silver cloud. It should be impossible to fit something like this into a room- but it’s  _ there,  _ so Chan accepts it. 

There’s something sitting by the stream, shoulders hunched. Chan exhales, eyes straining against the low light, and the figure turns. 

“Is someone there?” The voice is high and sweet. It’s the most beautiful thing Chan has ever heard. He wants to call out to it, but the warning press of Felix’s fingers against his hip keeps his mouth shut. 

The figure stands and moves closer. “Hello? Are you here to save me?” It’s a woman, Chan realizes, with silken golden hair that spills down past her feet and disappears into the shadows. 

“Oh,” she trills, and her voice cuts through Chan like glass. “You’re quite handsome, aren’t you?” She presses her small, delicate hands against the glass. “Please let me out. I’ve been trapped in here for so long… I’ve been waiting for you.” 

The clouds part, and the moonlight highlights the woman’s face. She’s hauntingly beautiful; every part of her is perfect. It’s almost unnatural. Her eyes are a familiar shade of amber. “I’m a princess,” the woman says through rosebud lips, “and if you let me out I will make you a king.” 

Chan doesn’t want that: he’s never wanted to become such a thing. But his fingers twitch with the urge to turn the knob, to let the poor fragile girl out of this prison.  _ I could be a king,  _ he thinks, something like hunger tugging at the pit of his stomach.  _ I want to be a king.  _

“That’s enough,” Felix says roughly, and pushes Chan aside. “Don’t bother trying.” 

The woman’s perfect smile freezes in place. The whites of her eyes tremble ever so slightly. 

Felix smiles back. “Not today.” 

Her smile cracks and splits into an impossibly wide leer; her teeth elongate and her face contorts into an enraged snarl. “Playing tricks on me again, are you? Dirty tricks?” 

Felix laughs. “That’s rich, coming from you.” She retorts with a wordless snarl, teeth grinding together. 

And still, she is beautiful. She is so beautiful that it’s nauseating. It burns his eyes. Chan can’t look away, even though all he wants to do is run back up the stairs. He’s frozen in place. 

“Damn you, brother,” she screams, pounding a fist against the glass. It shudders, but doesn’t crack. “Let me out! Let me  _ out!  _ Damn you! Damn you! Damn-,” 

“That’s enough,” Minho orders, grabbing Felix and Chan by the shoulders. He pushes them towards the steps. “We’re done. He’s seen her! Let’s get moving.” 

“I’ll get out one day,” the woman yowls, her voice echoing up the stairs. “I’ll get out, and it will be your flesh that I eat first!” 

Chan’s body moves up the stairs on autopilot. He wants more than anything to go back down there and open the door for her. It’s all he wants to do. He needs to do it- but at the same time, he’s repulsed. 

He doesn’t feel like himself until Felix opens the stone and pulls them back into the daylight. Chan watches the stone slide over the entrance, numb. 

“That,” Felix says softly, “was the princess you’ve been seeking. My sister.” 

Chan searches for the words, forces them past his frozen lips. “Are you a prince, then?” 

Felix smiles, a bitter shadow sliding over his face. “I was.” He’s silent for a long moment, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the ring of dead earth. 

Minho places a hand on his shoulder. “Boss,” he says softly. “Felix. Let’s go back home.” 

Felix nods. With a twist and a shake he’s draconic again. “Minho, help him up. I think he’s in shock.” The nymph nods and flicks his fingers; the wind pillows itself underneath Chan and props him up on Felix’s neck. 

“Hold on,” Felix tells him, and this time his words are warmer, less glacial. He’s thawing, too, after his encounter with the princess. “We’ll be home soon.” 

_ Home,  _ Chan thinks, and rests his face against the scales, fingers trembling from the lingering remnants of an inhuman cold. 

»»————- ♔ ————-««

“I won’t go after her,” Chan promises, when the three of them are back inside the cottage. He and Felix are drinking something warm and lemon-flavored, courtesy of Minho, and it’s slowly bringing him back to himself. “I won’t be able to go home, but I swear I won’t let her out.” 

He shivers and watches the flames dance in the fireplace. 

Felix takes a sip of his drink. “If you let her out, she wouldn’t even go with you. She’d eat your organs and move on, or play with you until she got bored.” He blinks. “And _ then _ she’d eat you.” 

“No offence,” Chan says bluntly, “but are you sure the two of you are actually related?” 

Felix offers him a tired half-smile. “Unfortunately. She wasn’t always this bad, though. It was better when we were younger. How long ago was that?” He looks up at Minho, who shrugs. 

“Three hundred… four hundred years ago?” 

Chan chokes on his drink. “Four hundred? You two are  _ four hundred  _ years old?”

Minho rests his chin in his hands and snickers. “He’s a dragon and I’m a lesser known forest deity. What were you expecting?” 

“I  _ know.”  _ Chan stares down at the worn wooden grain of the table. “It’s just shocking to think about. Our lives usually last no longer than eighty years.” 

“That’s sad,” Felix muses, eyes dark. Chan shakes his head. “It makes the time that we’re given much more significant.” 

Minho hums. “That’s one way to look at it. Where will you take your time now, mister knight?” The nymph flicks a ball of air at the fireplace, coaxing the flames higher into the air. “Since you can’t return to your home, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Chan replies honestly. He thinks of Jisung and Changbin and Loaf waiting for him back home, and his heart hurts. He pushes the cup aside and meets Felix’s gaze. “I’d like to stay here until I figure that out, if that’s alright with the two of you.” 

“That’s just fine with me.” Felix’s voice is soft and warm; it’s at odds with the expression on his face.

Felix looks at Chan in the same way that Chan’s mother used to look at jewelry displays- like he’s something expensive, something unattainable. 

Like he’s hungry to get his hands on it. Chan clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck with one hand. It’s hot to the touch- _ probably just heat from the fire.  _

Minho throws his hands up in the air. “I guess so!” He scoffs and crosses his arms, long hair swaying behind him. “Like I have a say in this anyway.” 

Felix smiles at him. “You don’t.” 

And that’s that. 

»»————- ♔ ————-««

Time passes differently here, in the cabin on the mountain. Chan wakes and sleeps as he pleases; oftentimes, he’ll wander into the kitchen to watch Felix bake. 

Weeks or months or years pass, but Chan stays the same, eyes bright and skin smooth. He goes riding with Felix and shows the dragon which plants to forage, teaches Felix how to skip a stone over water. He doesn’t press the dragon for his story, and in return Felix doesn’t ask for his. 

Felix seems content to just have Chan in his presence, but Chan can feel the heat of those golden eyes on him, and knows that there must be something more. He says nothing, because he doesn’t want to ruin the delicate friendship that blooms between them. 

At first, he aches for home- for Loaf and Jisung and Changbin, and the bakery on the corner- but as time passes, he finds himself caught thinking about them less and less.

It’s not on purpose- it has something to do in the old magic in the snow around them, and in the quiet golden mornings that seem to stretch on forever. 

There is always something new cooking in the little kitchen. Felix bakes like the world will end if he doesn’t have at least five different pastries on the rack at all times. 

Chan finds it deeply endearing, but never says so. 

It’s all Felix really does, when he’s not keeping hordes of unsuspecting knights from releasing a malevolent princess into the world. He bakes tarts and pies and brownies and cake: the kitchen always smells of flour and sugar.

Felix never goes out to get ingredients, but the creaky cabinets are always fully stocked, and the pans are always sparkling clean. Chan doesn’t question it. 

Sometimes the dragon makes other things- things for magic, that bubble and spark in squat glass jars- but he doesn’t let Chan taste test those. 

“These are for emergencies,” Felix explains, tossing a handful of shriveled lilac mushrooms into a pewter cauldron. “Worst case scenarios, really. Hopefully, we’ll never have to use them.” 

Chan peers into the cauldron and wrinkles his nose. “That looks disgusting, so yes. I agree.” 

He doesn’t see the shy smile Felix gives him, doesn’t notice the way the man’s eyes follow his back as he shuffles from jar to jar, turning over the brown labels with his fingers. 

“You have nice handwriting,” Chan comments, allowing the tags to slide from his fingers. “It’s a shame I can’t make any sense of it-oh. Hello.” 

Felix is standing in front of him, eyes shiny and cheeks red. “You really shouldn’t be touching those,” he says breathlessly, one hand snaking out to curl around Chan’s wandering fingers. “They’re dangerous.” 

Felix’s fingers are warm. They’re always so warm. Chan swallows, hard, and takes a step forward, until their chests are just brushing. “I’ve dealt with far more dangerous things. I’m not fragile, you know.” 

“Oh, I know,” Felix whispers. The smell of pine floods the room. “But you are far too adventurous for your own good. That could get you hurt.” 

Chan tilts his head. “A little curiosity never hurt anyone.” 

Felix bites down on his lip, eyes wide. “I could hurt  _ you _ .” The dragon’s nails press gently against the soft skin of Chan’s wrist as a demonstration. 

Chan smiles, soft and slow. There are a thousand different thoughts running through his head-  _ I don’t know what I’m saying, why am I doing this , I don’t- _

“I don’t care,” Chan settles on saying, and grabs Felix’s other hand with his own free one. “I don’t care,” he says again, and watches Felix’s pupils blow outward. The black swallows up all the amber. “I’m telling you that I can handle it.” 

The tension in the room is heavy, but not unwanted; Chan can feel electricity shoot up his spine every time Felix’s fingers twitch. The smell of pine and strawberries is almost overwhelming now. It fills the room, fills Chan’s head until he’s dizzy. 

"You,” Felix rumbles, and his voice sounds like the earth shifting and breaking underfoot. “You are-,” 

“Boss?” 

Felix and Chan jump apart, nearly knocking over the cart of bottled potions.

Minho sniffs the air and stands still for a long moment, face frozen in disgust. “You two are- well, never mind that. We have a big problem.” 

Felix’s head snaps up. “A problem?” 

Minho nods. “A  _ king  _ sized problem.” The dragon and the nymph slowly turn to look at the knight in front of them. 

“ _ Gods,”  _ Chan says, with feeling. 

»»————- ♔ ————-««

“Princess!” King Leopold the Sixth booms, cupping his hands around his bearded mouth. “I’ve come to rescue you! I heard you calling to me in my dreams, and have travelled all this way to find you.” 

The window at the very top of the tower stays empty and dark, as though it’s empty. “That’s fine,” Leopold says airily, adjusting his cape and crossing his arms. “I can wait for the maiden to appear.” 

The small army gathered behind the king exchange wary looks amongst themselves. Even they can tell that something is off about this place. The king, it seems, is blinded by his love for a woman he has never seen nor met. 

It’s not very reassuring. 

“Your Highness,” a soldier says nervously, sweaty-faced and out of breath, “Our scouts have spotted a dragon in the skies. What should we do?” 

Leopold blinks. “Kill it, obviously.” 

The soldier twitches. “How do you propose we go about doing that, your Highness?” 

Leopold laughs. “One hundred and fifty of the continent’s finest have been gathered here- and yet none of you are capable of slaying an oversized lizard? You are all an embarrassment to this kingdom.” 

The continent’s finest shift back and forth on their feet, deeply embarrassed. 

“ _ There’s no need for that,”  _ a voice calls. It seems to come from all directions; it’s as light as a bell and as pure as a creek high in the mountains. “ _ Come to me, and I’ll take care of it myself.”  _

“That’s her,” Leopold breathes. “Do you hear that?” 

The soldiers look around. They have not, in fact, heard anything. 

“ _ Come to the tower,”  _ the voice croons. “ _ I’ll let you in, king.”  _

Leopold staggers towards the stone walls, eyes glazed over. His feet drag against the barren ground. It’s almost as if something else is moving his body for him. 

A small part of his brain cries out in warning, but his palms are already pressed against the old rock.

A voice that is both his and not his speaks a low, guttural language. It sounds like the earth breaking. 

A hole appears in the stone tower. The light from the setting sun illuminates a single set of stairs that lead deep beneath the earth. 

“Stay here,” Leopold says, holding out a hand. “I must do this by myself.” 

“Your highness,” the cavalry captain says, face grey, “I really must insist-,” 

“ _ No,”  _ Leopold murmurs, and disappears down the stairs with an air of finality. He doesn’t come back out. 

The sun slides beneath the horizon, and the moon begins to ascend to the stars, and still the king doesn’t return. 

The soldiers let out a long, collective breath and begin to whisper amongst themselves. 

The cavalry captain rubs one hand across his face. “ _ Gods.”  _

“Oh, my,” a voice says. “There are so many of you.” Every single person in the clearing stands to attention. There’s an angel climbing out of the hole. Her feet are bare; her hair is long and golden. She’s beautiful. She’s flawless. 

The cavalry captain can feel something tug at his heart. In his awestruck state, he doesn’t see the fresh blood smeared across her perfect, plush lips. 

“I’m a princess,” the woman announces, tucking her clawed hands behind her back. “Would any of you like to help me?” 

»»————- ♔ ————-««

When the dragon and his friends arrive, there is nobody left to save. The scorched earth around the tower is soaked red; soldiers in uniform lie in crumpled heaps, chests caved in.

A single figure stands among them, moonlight illuminating her hair. 

“She works fast,” Minho breathes, wrinkling his nose up in disdain. “It hasn’t even been an hour.”

“She’s had a lot of time to perfect her craft,” Felix replies, his tone grim. He dips a wing and drops towards the ground. “Minho, take Chan.” 

Minho offers his hand. “Here.” Chan takes it and walks onto open air. “Hold on and you’ll be fine.” 

Chan watches Felix plummet towards the ground. “Is he going to be okay?” 

“He can hold his own,” Minho replies, his mouth pressed into a flat line. With a flick of his finger, the winds carry them to the edge of the clearing, a safe distance away from the carnage. “She’s strong, though- corrupted by centuries of magic.” 

“Felix has magic too. Why hasn’t he turned out like her?” 

Minho is silent for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he admits, pulling a lock of hair over his shoulder. “You mortals are such complex creatures- even the gifted ones. You break so easily.” 

_ Knight,  _ a voice whispers in the wind. It’s sweet. Chan tilts his head.  _ Come here.  _

“Do you hear that?” 

Minho blinks. “What?” His eyes narrow. “Hey, no. Chan. Don’t listen to her.” The nymph reaches out with a quick hand, brushes his fingers against Chan’s wrist- but several sets of bloodstained hands twitch to life and curl around his legs, holding him in place. 

Minho grimaces and looks down into the faces of several reanimated corpses. “You’ve got to be kidding me, princess.” 

The fallen soldiers grin widely in response. 

_ Hurry,  _ the princess trills, voice light and pleasant.  _ I need you!  _

The sensation of Chan’s body moving against his will is strange indeed. He watches, numb, as his feet drag through churned earth towards the two siblings standing off in the clearing. It’s as though he’s watching things unfold from a distance. 

The closer he gets to the princess, the lower the temperature drops. It’s a bone-deep kind of cold. 

When Felix sees Chan, he growls, smoke curling out of his mouth and into the air. The princess holds up a hand, face serene. “If you move to him, I’ll have him snap his own neck.” 

A small jet of flame shoots into the air, but Felix remains still. The princess steps lightly around heartless, fallen bodies and rests a delicate hand on Chan’s biceps.

“Sit down,” she orders, and Chan’s muscles comply. There’s an itching feeling in the back of his head. She presses a finger against his shoulder; the itching intensifies. “My, you’re lovely, aren’t you? So willing.” 

Felix snarls. Chan curls his left pinky very, very slowly, face red with effort. 

“Don’t take it personally, brother. I called for him,” the princess wipes away the blood smeared across her mouth with a dainty hand. “I’ve called for so many, over the years. I called for that king, too- but he wasn’t good enough. They never are.” She peers up at Chan with black, dead eyes. 

She’s managed to get on top of him somehow- her knees press against his chest uncomfortably. “You might be.”

“I could be,” Chan repeats slowly. The cold is so intense that it burns his skin, licks at the ends of his nerves. There’s a faint cracking sound all around them. “You didn’t call for me the first time we met, though.” 

The princess smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. She’s flawless, even with someone else’s blood on her hands. She reaches out, brushes her fingertips against Chan’s face- with a jolt, Chan realizes that she has the same, black claws as her brother. “I didn’t call for you, no. That’s why it might work.” 

Chan forces air through his tight, frozen lungs. “What do you want?”

_ Does it matter?  _ A voice that sounds like his pipes up.  _ Whatever she wants, give it to her. Give it to her!  _

“It’s not a  _ want,  _ Chan.” She drags a fingertip down the side of his face, down his neck. It burns. “It’s a need.” Her finger stops against Chan’s chest. “I need a  _ heart _ . I need one to leave this prison, and it must be worthy of a princess.” 

“You want mine,” Chan says. He wants to run, but his limbs stay frozen on the ground. “What would you do with it?”

A strange, slow smile spread over her angelic face. It sits oddly on her skin, like wet paper plastered over wood. “Whatever I please, dear knight. Would you pledge yourself to me?” 

Chan’s mouth opens- quite against his will- but whatever he says is drowned out by a deep, familiar voice. 

“He will  _ not.”  _ Felix walks towards them, the old stones cracking beneath his golden feet. When he stands, he is human again, but his eyes glow with a strange, unearthly fire. “He’s already spoken for.” 

“Too late,” the princess hisses, her nails digging into the thin fabric of Chan’s tunic. “Too late, brother! He is underneath my hands now. Not yours.” 

Felix taps his forehead. "You’re the one who was too late, sister.” A sudden warmth blooms across Chan’s forehead, the heat mirroring Felix’s actions. Confused, he reaches up and slides a hand across his brow, but he can only feel smooth skin. 

(  _ He can feel the very careful, very gentle brush of clawed fingers against his forehead-) _

“The protective glyphs are months old,” the princess croons, pushing back a handful of Chan’s curls to expose his forehead. “I can break these, dear knight. You don’t belong to him. Just say the word.” 

_ Say the word,  _ the voice that sounds like his whispers.  _ Just say it. You want to. _

Chan swallows and turns his head slightly to the left. Felix is making no move to stop his sister: his fists are clenched so tightly that the knuckles are bone white, and his teeth are ground together in a soundless snarl. 

“You don’t belong to anyone,” Felix says. His voice, though soft, rings clear through the silent air. “Those glyphs were protective in nature, and nothing more. You belong to yourself, Chan. Your heart is yours to offer, or to keep.” The dragon exhales two dark clouds of smoke. “Don’t give it away on a whim.” 

Chan stares at him. “What if I already have?” 

A shadow passes over the dragon’s face. “Then there’s nothing else I can do.” 

The princess laughs in response and slides a hand down Chan’s chest, her palm pressed so tightly against his skin that the both of them can feel the rapid beating of his heart. 

“Such heat,” she whispers, eyes wet. “It’s a warmth I’ve been deprived of for so long.” 

Chan exhales, slides a hand up to close around her wrist. “I’ll show you a heart, princess.” He reaches into his trousers with his free hand, fingers seeking out cool metal. “But it won’t be mine.” 

In one lightning-quick moment, he flips the two of them over, pulls out the little obsidian dagger, and pushes it through where the princess’s heart would be. There’s no blood, and the blade goes clean through the other side- but the princess freezes, eyes wide. 

Chan drives the dagger in deeper, sweaty fingers slipping around the metal handle. “I don’t know why you’re going through all this trouble to get a new heart, princess. You have one right here.” 

He’d felt the weak, slow thump of it when she had crawled on top of him. 

The princess stares up at him. She’s still beautiful, even with that strange, lost look in her eyes. “That’s impossible. I lost my heart. It was stolen-,” 

“Nobody stole it,” Chan says gently. Her nails dig at his skin and tear at his clothes, drawing thin lines across his face- but there’s no force behind it. A dry, frigid wind begins to seep out of the princess’s chest, whipping his hair around and sending dead leaves high into the air. 

“You’ve always had it, but it wasn’t enough for you, was it? You wanted more.” Chan leans in until their noses nearly touch. “Even now, you want more.” 

“You always had such a hunger,” Felix says, crouching down beside Chan. His gaze is somewhere far away, but his fingers are present. They slide over Chan’s hand, holding the dagger in place. “Do you remember, Youngmi? Do you remember why we had to lock you up in the tower?” 

Youngmi exhales sharply, her chest heaving. “No- Mother- Father-” 

“Imagine how I must have felt,” Felix whispers, “Walking into the palace to find everyone dead and gone, and only you left standing.” 

Chan watches, fascinated, as a deep crimson light begins to seep through the thin skin of Felix’s throat. 

“You killed them all, and cursed me for trying to stop you. Human life isn’t worth the knowledge you seek, sister. This isn’t what our gifts are meant for. It’s time for you to lay this to rest.” 

“I can’t,” Youngmi says. She looks like a wild, cornered animal- all sharp edges and shifting eyes. “I’ve seen more than anyone else on this earth, brother. The magic gave me more gifts. I have so many.” 

She reaches out with a trembling hand, pulls at the leather cords of her brother’s tunic. “I can’t stop now. I’m so close to finding the answer to  _ everything _ .” 

“And I’ve found mine,” Felix replies. There’s a deep, dark grief that lies heavy on his face. “I’m sorry.” He opens his mouth and closes his eyes- but before Chan can see anything else, there are hands on his shoulders pulling him backwards. 

“He wouldn’t want you to see this,” Minho says. His voice is flat and cool. There’s blood under his nails. “He’s not fully himself right now. If you respect him, don’t look.” 

Chan looks away. He can still hear the roar of the fire, can still smell the smoke- but he keeps his eyes on the horizon, where the evergreen trees stretch out for endless miles. 

Only when the fire dies down to a crackle does he dare to turn around. 

Felix sits in a circle of blue ash, clothes charred and hair singed. He’s staring at his hands with unrestrained fascination; with a start, Chan realizes that the man’s nails are now blunt and square. “I’m whole again,” he murmurs. He flinches when Chan sits down beside him. “I’m free, now.” 

“Yeah,” Chan says. “You are.”

Felix looks up at him. His pupils are round. Chan knows then that there is no more dragon left in the man in front of him. “It was supposed to be a curse, you know. She thought it would drive me insane.” He laughs and brings his face into his hands. “I hated it, and now I miss it.” 

Chan slides a hand around Felix’s waist, draws him in close. There are no words of comfort that he can offer the prince, but the simple touch seems to be enough. 

Felix sighs and pushes his face into the crook of Chan’s neck. “I’m tired,” he says thickly. Something hot and wet slides down Chan’s collarbone. “I want to go home.” 

“I’ll take you,” Chan whispers, voice hoarse. He picks up the prince carefully, one arm under Felix’s knees and the other around his torso. There’s a bit of ash caught in Felix’s hair. Chan brushes it out with a light, tender touch. “Minho, could you-,?” 

Minho nods. There’s no witty remark this time, just a mild wind that pulls the three of them up into the air. It’s warm. 

It carries the three of them over the crumbling tower, pulls them over the sea of green trees, and flies them like an arrow towards the cabin on the mountain. 

Felix sleeps for three days and three nights. Chan sits by his side for all of them. Minho spoon feeds him syrupy liquid that smells like apples, and the both of them wait. 

Time drags: the days feel like years. Chan watches the light come and go outside the round brass windows, and fights against the pull of sleep. 

“I’m sorry,” Felix says the moment he wakes up. “For making you worry.” His voice is raspy, his eyes still tired. 

Chan lets out a long, shuddering breath and presses his forehead against the man’s clammy hand. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.” 

“He’s right.” Minho sniffs and shoves a mug of something hot and steaming into Felix’s hands. “Drink this. It’s been boring without you.” 

Felix nods and accepts the drink wordlessly, eyes shiny. He uncurls one of his hands from the mug and slides it across the worn quilt. His fingers brush against Chan’s thumb, and without thinking Chan slides them through his own. 

Felix flushes and chokes on his drink. 

_ Oh, no,  _ Chan thinks, heart fluttering in his chest.  _ I’m doomed.  _ He can’t say he dislikes the feeling, though. 

»»————- ♔ ————-««

Felix comes back to himself in bits and pieces. There are moments where he forgets entirely that he’s no longer able to turn into a house-sized giant, which leads to Minho installing a set of stairs down the mountain- “so you won’t  _ throw yourself  _ off the side of the cliff again, boss.” 

“Sorry,” Felix says, mollified. His face is red, but there’s a look of genuine sadness on his face. “It’s strange, being fully human again.” 

“You still have your gifts,” Chan reminds him, and the man brightens. 

That night, the kitchen fills once more with the scent of sugar and baking dough, and both Minho and Chan exhale a sigh of relief. 

The days begin to blend together again, like before- but this time Felix seems aware of it, this blurred passage of minutes and hours. He shifts from foot to foot, paces the length of the cottage over and over. 

“I'm restless,” he admits on one such night, knees pulled up to his chest. “I want to travel. I want to see how people live. I miss feeling human.” 

Chan watches the firelight flicker against Felix’s face. It paints the other man into something otherworldly, something transient and golden and unreachable. He reaches out and brushes a hand against Felix’s cheek. “I could help you with that.” 

Felix looks up at him through golden eyelashes, expression unreadable. “Tell me more.” 

Chan swallows. He moves a cautious thumb across Felix’s cheek. “I have a house back home- and a dog. I have friends, and distant relatives, and I’ve travelled across the continent so many times that I’ve nearly lost count.”

Felix leans in, lips twitching. “Is that all?” 

“I’m also an excellent travel guide?” Chan squeaks, panicked. He flushes red as Felix slides a hand up his knee, wraps an arm around his waist. 

“I don’t know if I want a travel guide, per se.” Felix taps a finger against Chan’s thigh. “I’m looking for something else.” 

Chan tries very hard not to combust on the spot. “Like what?” 

Felix is no longer a dragon. This is an absolute truth. There’s no trace of the curse left in his body, but the hunger in his face now is the same as it was before- like Chan is a trove of gold, or a vast catch of jewels. Felix stares at him like he’s priceless, and his hands are so, so hot against Chan’s skin. 

“I think you know what I want,” Felix whispers, voice low. 

Chan shivers and tucks a piece of Felix’s golden hair behind his ear. “I know what I want, too.” 

When Felix speaks, the word drips molten gold. “ _ Good.”  _

When he kisses Chan, it feels like the earth drops out from beneath the two of them. Chan makes a startled, breathless noise and grips the fabric of Felix’s tunic tightly in his hands. Felix is warm and tastes like strawberry jam. Chan tilts his head and kisses back. 

“We can go whenever you want,” Chan manages between kisses, head spinning. “I know a bakery you might like-ah, gods. I like you.” 

Felix pulls back and gives him a lopsided smile, lips red. “I like you too.” 

(Two rooms over, Minho makes a face and covers his ears. “ _ Gross _ .”)

»»————- ♔ ————-««

It’s on a humid evening in late August when someone knocks on Jisung’s door. Cursing, he wipes his purple fingers off on his apron and slides off of his stool. 

“Blackberry jam,” he mutters, throwing a hateful look towards the row of canned jars sitting on the kitchen counter. “I want jam for my birthday, Changbin said! It’s not hard to make, he said!” The man rolls his eyes and stomps over to the door. 

“This better be good,” Jisung says, and pulls open the wooden door with far more violence than necessary. He freezes, fingertips tightening around the doorknob. 

“Um, hello,” Chan says nervously. There’s a hoop in his right ear, and a set of three silvery scars across his cheek. He seems not to have aged at all, though it’s been almost nine years. “Long time no see?” 

Jisung winds a fist back and punches him square in the face. Chan staggers and falls backward onto the very nice rose bush Changbin had planted the summer before. 

“Okay,” Chan squeaks, “I deserved that! Sorry! Oh, gods.” 

It’s only then that Jisung notices the other person standing there. He’s striking, with long eyelashes and golden hair falling over his shoulder in a loose braid.

“Hello,” the man says, amber eyes warm. The freckles on his face seem to glow in the fading light. “Please don’t punch me. I brought pie.” 

Jisung sucks in a deep breath and turns around. “Changbin!” 

There’s a faint crashing noise from upstairs. “What? I’m just- I swear to god, this blasted  _ dog-,”  _

“Loaf!” Chan calls from the rosebush, hands cupped around his mouth. The banging and crashing ceases abruptly before picking up again. After a moment, a small, portly dog and a man with long, dark hair crash down the stairs in a ball of hair and paws.

“Eight  _ years,”  _ Changbin wheezes, flapping an irritated hand as the dog barks and chews on the end of his ponytail. One of his shoes is lying next to his head. “You  _ bastard-,”  _

“Sorry,” Chan says again, but this time his voice is uneven, soft. He stands up slowly. There are tears in his eyes. “It’s a long story.” 

Jisung’s lower lip wobbles. “We’ll have plenty of time to hear it over dinner. I made stew.” 

“It’s really good, actually,” Changbin adds. He stands and rubs the back of his head. “Come here.” 

Chan sniffles and melts into the open arms of his friend. Changbin smells familiar, like mint and thyme: he smells like home. 

“Seriously,” Jisung says thickly, stepping in and sliding an arm around Chan’s waist. “You couldn’t have come home sooner? We thought you’d- you know. We  _ missed  _ you.” 

“I missed you too,” Chan says. He takes a deep breath. “I’m back for good, I swear. It’s just a-,” 

“Long story?” Jisung and Changbin parrot. Chan laughs. “It is.” 

Felix smiles quietly, arms crossed. The setting sun is warm, and the smell of beef and rice wafts out of the open door. It smells  _ good,  _ this near future. It smells- Felix tilts his head. Something does not, in fact, smell good. 

“Oh, sorry about that,” Jisung says apologetically. “He gets like that when he’s excited.” 

“Ah,” Felix replies mildly. He looks down at the excited, chunky dog. There’s a yellow puddle near his paw. “You must be Loaf.” 

“That’s disgusting,” a disembodied voice comments. 

Changbin blinks. “Who said that?” 

“Me, obviously,” Minho replies, materializing out of thin air and straightening up to his full height of seven feet, five inches. Jisung and Changbin scream in unison. Loaf barks enthusiastically. 

Chan laughs and closes his eyes.  _ I really do have some explaining to do.  _

It’ll be a long story, but there’s food and good company inside. Chan knows that it’s a story with a happy ending. There aren’t many of those. He’s lucky. 

Felix slides his fingers through his, and smiles, and Chan can only smile back. 

Surely, the future will be full of time well spent.

»»————- ♔ ————-««

" _ Once upon a time, there was a princess.  _

_ Her hair was long and gold, and she was strong. The trees bent to her will, and the animals of the forest knelt at her feet…" _

**THE END.**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i stared at this for 4 days before mustering up the will 2 post it. god bless!!!1  
>  also i would let the princess rip out my heart out any day .. she's fine as hell


End file.
